A Night to Remember
by Ammanalien
Summary: Holmes and Watson in an early adventure. Lots of H/C of course... thanks for reviewing! NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.** - My first Sherlock Holmes story! A bit of a departure from my usual style (and century!), but I have so enjoyed writing it!  
I hope you will 'give it a go'!

oOo

A Night to Remember

1

Many years have come and gone for me, but I still recall as though it were yesterday, that wet September evening when I first met Mr. Sherlock Holmes the most famous of English detectives and his companion Dr. Watson.

The year was 1886. I was a schoolgirl back then, idealistic, full of optimism and eager one day to make my mark on the world. Autumn term had just started and I was a fourth former at St Elizabeth's, a school for young ladies in the New Forest.

At this point I should probably tell you, patient reader, that, at that time, I was not described by anyone who knew me as a model or even a typical pupil. I noticed things that others did not... I constantly looked for details in everything. My masters and mistresses found me infuriating, a fact of which they often reminded me.

The finding of inconsistencies in everything and everybody I encountered was becoming a kind of hobby for me, and, combined with my overall lack of lady-like decorum it had brought me several times to the attention of our headmistress, Miss Hammond.

_Nora, _she would say,_ a lady does not question her betters_ and _Nora, a lady does not bunch up her petticoats _and _Nora, a lady does not ... _and so it would go on.

Well, there happened to be, in the extensive grounds of the magnificent stone building that was our school, a disused dwelling of some size and age. We girls were not allowed to go there - it was unsafe we were told.

But in recent days I had seen a mysterious flickering glow, shining out at odd hours of the night, causing some excited speculation on my part as to the meaning of this phenomenon, and leading me to wonder what could be occurring there when all the world was asleep.

My suspicions had also been aroused by a new master who had arrived that term - I had already had him _under my microscope_ as it were. In him, I felt sure, were inconsistencies in abundance. However, over the course of these first two weeks, I had not managed to discern them all, a fact that had left me rather frustrated.

I had concluded quite quickly that he was not a member of the teaching profession, and my hypothesis, one that was yet to be either proved or disproved, was, that he was a doctor.

In class I watched his every movement, a series of observations of which he was quite oblivious. It was my opinion that he handled pipette and syringe with far more familiarity and skill than an inexperienced school master had any business doing. That, in addition to his quick thinking and obvious medical knowledge when Annie had sliced her hand with a scalpel, led me to my conclusion.

Yes, I had already made up my mind and in my mind the deduction was sound; a doctor he most certainly was.

And so, being the sort of girl, even back then, who considered herself made of stern stuff and never content to simply let things happen around me I decided to investigate the phenomenon of the lights and if in doing so I discovered the complicity of our so-called science master along the way, well, that, I told myself, would be a bonus.

I spoke to no one of my plan and late on that September evening, darkly dressed and carrying no light for fear it would give me away, I crept out of the dorm and through the rhododendron bushes towards the old house.

The night sky was full of clouds and no moon shone out to aid me; a light drizzle fell. Over my uniform blouse I wore a black jacket of coarse wool, which concealed the stark whiteness of the blouse admirably, and this attire, along with a pair of boy's britches - purloined from the laundry room - made me into a suitably 'rascal' figure. I pushed my shoulder-length brown hair under a gabardine cap.

As I came around the back of the house I felt a thrill of excitement as I saw lights glimmering from below ground... I would solve this mystery tonight, I could feel it in my very bones.

There was a skylight above part of the cellar. I climbed onto a parapet and, leaning over, I was able to look down through dirty, cracked panes of glass. Below, I could see machinery and what I quickly recognised as a printing press. My father took me once to Cafferty's in Bond Street, where he was conducting some business. I remember the smell of the ink and the rattle crash of the mechanical presses.

I saw indistinct figures moving around the basement below me. I used one finger to clean the grimy surface of a pane, and now I could discern what it was they were printing...

_Money_... they were making bank notes and of course I knew, even at my young age, that this practice was highly illegal.

My first thought, I am slightly ashamed to recount, was that Millicent Vine would simply _shrivel_ to hear of my discovery! I would go straight to Miss Hammond and tell everything I knew. She would hug me, inform me of how wrong she had been and make me Head Girl ... I would be photographed for the front page of The Times, and I would receive _flowers_... flowers and medals.

I carefully began to inch back from the surface of the skylight. It was slippery from the earlier rain shower and as I scrambled my feet for purchase, something gave way beneath me and with feelings of both terror and disbelief, I fell.

I was insensible from that point until I awoke in a small and dimly lit room. My first sensation was that of coldness, a damp and all-encompassing coldness that had me trembling. I felt sure my heart would explode, for it was beating hard and fast like the hooves of a galloping pony.

I was horrified to discover that I was laid out upon the dirty floor of this dreadful room and although I willed it so, I could not rise, however hard I tried. Above me was an intact though grubby ceiling, and around me there were no signs of broken glass, so I quickly surmised I had been brought here by the perpetrators of the crime that I had just this night discovered.

I had lost my hat. My right arm and wrist hurt intolerably; I cupped my elbow with my good hand, pulling the limb closer and I felt my eyes sting with tears. My eyelids fell and I drifted in a kind of haze for what was probably many minutes. When I opened my eyes at last, I realised with a sharp pang of fear that there was someone in the room with me!

A shadow moved across my vision and then the light burned suddenly brighter, as someone turned up the gas. I blinked, my heart racing in panic.

I looked up into a grave and surprisingly familiar face.

It was Mr Beddoes, the new master!

At least that was what he called himself, although I felt sure it was a pseudonym. They had said he was newly trained, but Mr Hall was also new, and he was so poor he fixed his shoes with rubber bicycle patches... I had seen them. Mr Beddoes, however, was impeccably dressed and had an air of someone who was definitely not a schoolmaster.

He leaned across me and his eyes seemed very dark. He said, "Young lady, you are not to worry. No cause to be afraid"

I was not very afraid, only a little confused about my arrival here.

He sat back and asked "How are you feeling?" and I watched him as he pulled something from his overcoat pocket. I did not answer immediately as my apprehension rose somewhat by the realisation that it was a gun he was examining in the lamplight.

"So you _are_ an imposter... I knew it from the start." I eventually said in as brave a voice as I could muster. I was still cradling my injured arm, and I realised that if required to make a daring escape from this blackguard I would be sadly incapable.

"Young lady... Nora, is it? I do not know how you came to be here in this predicament, but we have no time for explanations. Only know this: I am not in league with these counterfeiters"

He put the gun away and regarded me steadily. I was, even back then, a fair judge of character and somehow I knew immediately that he spoke the truth.

There was blood on his forehead… some of his curly hair was stuck there.

"Your head is bleeding" I said, and at once he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief that he used to dab at the swathe of red that had run down one cheek and dropped onto his white starched collar.

He then turned his whole attention to me once more, saying,

"Now, Nora, we do not have much time. I believe your arm is broken and I need to apply a splint. Will you permit me?" and he made a movement towards me as if he intended to examine my injured arm. I was in such pain and was feeling so dreadful that I whimpered in spite of myself and pulled back from his touch.

But he persevered and only gazed down kindly at me and said, "It will be alright, I promise."

I closed my eyes and nodded, hoping he would understand my meaning and he said, "Courage now, Nora..."

He gently took my arm and then I knew no more, for I immediately fell into a swoon and did not mark the passage of time while I was unconscious.

oOo

TBC and thankyou for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

2

When I awoke my arm was aching in a dull fashion. It felt cold as if it were not mine at all. I looked down to find it had been bandaged, strangely and yet quite skilfully and neatly, with scraps of cloth and pieces of what could only be packing string. I had been covered with the gentleman's overcoat, my bad arm laid carefully across my middle and on top of the woollen coat. From the scratchiness beneath my neck and cheek, I assumed my jacket was being employed as a pillow.

My fall must have scrambled my senses for I certainly felt strange, as if my head had been densely stuffed with cotton wool. My vision was flickering on and off, as would a defective gas light.

I also felt horribly nauseated. Regardless of my injuries and dangerous predicament, everything paled to insignificance compared to the depth of humiliation to which I would sink, should I give in to my sickness and have this gentleman be witness to it.

"You did not answer me earlier, when I asked how you were feeling..." as he said this he threw down onto the floor several remnants of cloth and string, and then placed a gentle hand against my neck where I could momentarily feel the beat of my heart against his fingers.

"I will be alright" I said stoically, although I could tell from his expression he did not altogether believe me. I have to tell you that _I_ also did not believe me.

"How did you find me here?" I asked.

"I saw you fall and I watched them lock you in this room. I believe their intent was simply to leave you here while they concluded their crooked business - they will not return, have no fear"

His face suddenly fell and when he looked at me again it was with regret.

"I'm afraid a friend of mine may need me and I must go. I will return, I give you my word" He patted my shoulder in a friendly way and readied himself to leave. At the door, I noticed him checking the gun once more, turning it over in his hands.

I felt very proud that I said nothing, when every part of me screamed out to shamelessly beg him to stay. I was terribly afraid, but I gathered my courage and simply nodded. He left then and I must be truthful, dear reader, and tell you that I did weep for a not inconsiderable length of time and that I felt more wretched and hopeless at that point than I had in my entire young life.

oOo

I heard voices first, low and indistinct, and I was content at that point simply to listen.

"Yet again we discover the bitter fruits of a lack of communication..."

(gloves are pulled roughly off)

"It's awfully good to see you, old man..."

(the stamp of a leather-soled shoe)

"You were supposed to wait for the signal!"

"Yes, yes... but events were such that I could not-"

(he is interrupted)

"Do you have your revolver?"

"Yes I do, if it is any business of yours.. and I would ask you not to _question_ me-"

"Well it _will_ be my blasted business if you hurt yourself again- what is _that_?"

(there is a brief pause where I deduce the blood spotted collar is discovered)

"What is _what_?"

"What do you mean _what is what_.. what is _that_?_ And_ on your brow, just- you've been bleeding, haven't you?"

(there is a dismissive snort at this point)

"A scratch..."

(another pause)

"Is that _my_ shirt you are wearing and - by the way -_ ruined_!"

I had opened my eyes whilst this hushed but heated exchange continued. Upon my return to wakefulness, I had seen with immense relief that my gentleman had indeed come back and that he had apparently brought with him the friend of whom he spoke.

I saw them both look at me in sudden silence and surprise.

After conversing in whispers again, this time with such studious care that I was unable to hear them, they peered out of the door one last time and then closed it behind them noiselessly.

I could hear their breaths coming deep and rapid as if they had recently run a great distance. They knelt at my side and I blinked wearily up at them. To my eyes, the second stranger was as finely dressed as the first, in a dark blue great-coat with wide lapels. In one hand he carried a pair of black leather gloves, which he stuffed hastily and rather ungraciously I thought at the time, into a pocket.

He had a neatly-trimmed moustache very like to my father's. My first stranger's hair was very dark and rather unruly, but this gentleman's was sandy in colouring and closely cropped, in what my mother would describe as a military style. I remember being quite exasperated with myself at the time, as I could not, hard as I tried, fathom the colour of his eyes.

I found him to have a kindly enough countenance, but I was nonetheless startled when he all at once laid a cool hand on my forehead. His expression was serious as from beneath the overcoat which covered me, he drew my good hand. The hand on my forehead quickly went to his waistcoat pocket and a fob watch appeared which held his attention for some seconds, while his fingers moved gently against my wrist. It was only then that he seemed to sense my consternation.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear, I'm a doctor" he quickly said. Returning the pocket watch to its proper place he drew up the edge of the overcoat and I was snug once more.

"Another doctor?" I asked.

The two gentlemen exchanged an odd look between them.

"Dear lady..." began the gentleman who was _not_ a science master,"I am many things but a doctor I am not… I would find the hours intolerable"

I believe I heard the other chuckle at that... The gentleman who was also _not_ a doctor continued:

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I must beg your forgiveness as I was remiss in my failure to introduce myself before now. This is my colleague, Dr Watson"

The gentleman who really _was_ a doctor looked at me then, and said,

"Miss Nora, the circumstances could be better, but it is an honour to meet you nonetheless."

oOo

TBC and thank you for reading!

A.N.- I hope you will forgive me if some of the dialogue in this short chapter owes slightly more to the SH movie than to the original stories.


	3. Chapter 3

3

I found I could not answer the doctor's introduction with the required courtesies and as he did not seem to mind, I felt myself immensely grateful to him. I had become very weary and cold and my eyes were rolling strangely._ Holmes and Watson_... _Holmes and Watson_... I repeated these names in my head and wondered why they seemed familiar, but alas my muddled mind was in no condition to help me.

I closed my eyes for a moment and felt his hands upon me checking here and there and I wondered if he could feel how much I shivered.

He spoke to me then and I felt compelled by that voice to open my eyes and listen:

"You must tell me everything you are feeling" he said softly, "no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you. Do you understand?" His voice was very patient and gentle. I felt wrapped all about by it, like a long fur coat.

"My arm hurts but not as much as it did. My eyes are… funny, and I have a headache" I said in reply.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked and pulled the overcoat that was laid over me further towards my chin.

"My head is hot but…" I trailed off.

"But everywhere else is… _shivery_? Is that it?" he added helpfully.

"Yes" I answered with a small nod.

He nodded too and said gravely, "It's to be expected, I'm afraid. Try not to worry, we'll be out of here soon."

I heard a call of "Watson!" from Mr Holmes, and the doctor got up from where he was tending to me and went over to his companion.

They whispered at first and so I was not a party to their initial discussion, but soon their voices were raised enough for me to hear and understand:

"No, _I_ must go.. it has to be me. One of them may recognise you" said the doctor, with some firmness.

"Agreed then. Be careful..." answered Mr Holmes, although I could tell very easily that he was not altogether happy with this arrangement.

"Am I not always careful? Keep her warm... the poor child is quite done in. I fear the effects of shock are already upon her" said the doctor in such a concerned tone that I was mortified to have my condition talked of in so pessimistic a way.

He turned at the door, though, and said, "Chin up, my dear!" and then he left.

oOo

"Sit down, old boy, before you fall down!" Mr Holmes' voice cut into the buzzing that was residing in my aching head.

(There are scuffling sounds at the door)

"I'm alright..." answered the doctor in a voice that was altogether too small for such a man as he.

"Where is the ruffian now?" asked Mr Holmes.

"I silenced him.. dispatched him to a room such as this... he will awaken tomorrow - hopefully in custody - with a slight headache."

"And you, Watson?" The concern evident in these three words made me turn my head and crane my neck in order to see the man to whom he was talking. All I succeeded in doing was further increasing my nausea and I had to breathe in a determined fashion for long moments to settle my whirling vision.

"I?" replied my doctor, in a voice all laced with pain and frustration "... I shall be up late tonight bandaging these infernal ribs!"

oOo

"Your ribs are hurting you, aren't they?" I said and the doctor quickly raised a smile to his lips, although of course I could guess it was only for my benefit. He was beside me, kneeling on the dirty floor of our windowless refuge.

"I can see it is quite useless to try and hide anything from you, young lady." I could tell from his clouded eyes and troubled expression that the levity in his voice was forced, also.

"What is going to happen?" I asked.

"Well, we know that help is on the way and we just need to sit tight for a little while longer." he answered.

"And then we will leave here?" said I.

"Yes" came the doctor's reply.

He was looking paler than before and as he reached for my bandaged arm, I saw the shine of perspiration upon his face. He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand.

"Can you feel that?" he asked.

I nodded in the affirmative.

"Splendid" he said with a weary sigh. Then he sat back slowly on his heels and with a pained twist of the mouth, he held his left hand to his left side against the edge of his waistcoat and slowly rose. He appeared to stagger for a moment and I almost thought he would have fallen had Mr Holmes not suddenly been at his side to steady him.

"Watson?" he asked worriedly, and I could see in my mind's eye, his brows knit in consternation, even though I was quite unable to see his face.

"No need to fuss, old man.." said the doctor.

"Anything I can do?" asked Mr Holmes.

"Not a thing" came the cheerful reply.

I had read a story once where the hero was described as possessing a _steadfast demeanor_. Surely, thought I, these two gentlemen were possessing of the most steadfast demeanors that it was possible to have, and I believed I was altogether the most fortunate captive to be in their company.

The doctor perched himself on the edge of a packing case near the door, listing badly to one side. I could tell that Mr Holmes was concerned for him by the way he chewed at his lip and glanced this way and that, yet always having his attention mostly on the doctor.

They conversed again in urgent tones. I remember considering at that moment that these two were not mere friends but more alike to brothers in the way they regarded each other. And I recalled also how I had heard them tonight talk more than once in the manner of adversaries, but all the time it was evident to any onlooker that they meant no hostility whatsoever.

They seemed to be discussing who would aid me during our planned escape:

"You are in no fit state and you know it, Watson! Don't be a fool, man..."

"That girl is my patient, Holmes... anything could happen - her heart, her breathing - all manner of things. I will argue no more, my mind is quite made up."

Believe me I felt quite ashamed to be the burden over whom they wrangled, but I did feel such admiration for the doctor when, even with the pain of his injury, he insisted that the responsibility for my well-being rested absolutely with him.

"You will need to carry her, will you not? An impossible feat, I would say, Doctor!" went on Mr Holmes, hotly.

I was horrified by these words, and could not help myself when I cried out, "I do not wish to be carried!" I am ashamed to say, dear reader, that my emotions were as rattled by my ordeal quite as much as my senses were, and in my fragile emotional state I added : "I am not a child..." A lump was in my throat and my eyes burned.

(This last outburst is a curious phrase, is it not? The more one says it and thinks it, the less true it seems.)

The doctor was immediately at my side and said, "You are an intelligent and courageous young woman, Nora, and if you wish to walk I will help you" He patted my hand gently and smiled - and was that a twinkle in his tired eyes?

Then in an aside meant only for my ears, he whispered behind his hand, " ...and be forever in your debt, as to bear even your light weight will be a task indeed for this ailing doctor!"

His making light of our predicament succeeded in calming me and I slept then for an indeterminate time, exhausted and in pain from my arm and head.

oOo

TBC and thanks as always for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

4

"You look better" the doctor said to me, as he helped me to sit up against the wall, cushioned somewhat by the old sacks he had gathered from the floor. I had lost all track of time having slept, as I believed, in several short bursts; and being in an underground room I had not the clues of daylight or blackness to help me guess the hour.

"I think I_ feel_ better" I said. It was not quite a lie. My two companions made light of their own not insignificant hurts and I felt it only right that I should try and do the same. I was at least feeling warmer, and the mere presence of these gentlemen did seem to raise my spirits in an unaccountable way.

"What time is it?" I asked.

The doctor reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his time piece. He looked ill; his face was white as before, and I thought I heard him wheezing slightly as he spoke.

"It is a quarter past two" he told me.

I think I gasped.

"How can that be?" I said, in disbelief.

"Don't worry, it's quite alright. When one is injured one tends to sleep just as much as is necessary, and it can be a difficult commodity to measure" he explained.

Just as he moved to replace the watch, I reached out quickly and touched his arm. He stilled.

I do not know what I wanted to express to him, but all I managed to say was, "You should be sleeping too, doctor"

I felt so badly for him; had I not been there, he would undoubtedly be resting in this precise spot, with Mr Holmes ministering to him.

"I will sleep soon enough" he said with another smile.

"I believe it is time to leave" said Mr Holmes, closing the door gently as he came in. It was only then that I realised he had been absent while the doctor and I talked; he must have been outside.

He and Dr Watson exchanged looks and then they both looked expectantly at me.

I had known the time was approaching when we would make our escape, and goodness knows I had no wish to stay another moment in our hiding place, and yet at the same time my worries upon one point would not abate ...

"I'm afraid" I said at last.

"There is really no need. You can depend on us to keep you safe... I can assure you" replied Mr Holmes, evenly.

I felt my face burn:

"No.. I mean… I'm afraid I – when I stand… I feel – _sick_… I…" I stumbled over my explanation like an infant.

Then the doctor immediately put a hand on mine and said,

"I don't want you to worry about that – It's nothing, and you must trust me on this."

I remember thinking how kind he was. I have often wondered over the years how an army doctor, jaded as he must have been from witnessing war and the desperate things men do, could be so gentle, both in speech and manner, and take care of a child such as I was.

His words did little though, to reassure me, and I resigned myself to my fate, wondering whose expensive shoes I would soon ruin.

Dr Watson pulled the knot from his neck tie, and then, with one hand, slid it from beneath his collar and proceeded to knot the two ends together. This loop of silk he then hung around his own arm.

"Ready?" the doctor asked, and I nodded. I saw Mr Holmes was ready too, standing close. With a strong arm under each shoulder I was heaved upright, and at the same time someone held my bad arm preventing its movement.

The room tilted and I was its axis, if my body had not been held steady by my rescuers, I would have fallen right there. They both had some whispered words of encouragement for me then, and I must tell you, dear reader, I sorely needed them.

The doctor slipped the sling around my neck and threaded my bandaged arm through securely. My good arm was then slung around his lower back and he held my hand firmly to keep it there. His right arm endeavoured to keep me standing, by grasping the waist band of my britches in his fist.

Mr Holmes draped the overcoat across the doctor's shoulders and as I was right by his side and considerably shorter than my companion, I felt the full and welcome benefit of its warmth.

Mr Holmes, revolver in his hand, led the way from our small store room.

We were all quite the wounded soldiers: I with my broken arm and rolling eyes; Mr Holmes' scraped head and my doctor, whose ribs were at the very least fearfully bruised.

Dr Watson took most of my weight and almost immediately my head began to fall forward and I was powerless to prevent it, making a view of my own feet the only view possible.

I had no sense of where we were going, although from time to time I noticed the changing ground beneath us: slate flags; stone steps; broken glass.

My nausea was with me throughout this long walk, but somehow I gained mastery of it, and did not disgrace myself!

My mind remembers little more than that which I have already written, but a quite indelible memory is the feeling of warmth on one side of me. Being jostled and pulled this way and that and yet always there was the assurance of being in safe and competent hands.

At some point our forward motion stopped and I was able to raise my head a little.

We were outside - in the dark - it was raining - I could hear many voices calling... whistles from all sides, and feet splashing through puddles.

A wind was blowing and it revived me, at least for a short while.

"Are we out?" I asked. The words fell upon my own ears dully, as if they came from underground.

There was no answer and I felt myself being slowly lowered until I was no longer held up by the doctor, and yet I still felt the warmth.

Time expanded and I was not on a cold floor or a wet pavement, I was lying on a soft bed. I opened my eyes and saw a shadowy whitewashed ceiling; somehow I had come to be lying in our school infirmary.

I slept the remainder of that night under the watchful eye of our Matron. My arm was set with a new white splint and the large bump on the side of my head, of which I had been quite unaware, was examined and deemed more or less benign by the village doctor.

Upon waking, I at once asked about my two rescuers. I was informed that both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson were well, and that the doctor's injuries although potentially quite serious had been treated. They told me he had _carried_ me most of the distance, with no less than two fractured bones in his chest.

I was astonished to hear this, not only because of his injuries, but also because I had no recollection of being carried. I can only assume that my condition was such that I was more unconscious than conscious, and that the doctor held me with such care that I hardly noticed.

They also told me that once I was safely passed on to others, he had commenced to all but pass out on the lawn himself. His colleague had caught him before he fell and had attended him whilst waiting for the other doctor to finish with me. That Mr Holmes had taken excellent care of his friend I was in no doubt; this gentleman was a most caring and brave fellow, qualities to which I was, after all, best placed to attest.

I did not see my two companions until the following afternoon, by which time, with the help of my father, hastily summoned from London, my addled brain had recovered enough to recall the significance of the names Holmes and Watson. My parents and I had discussed the two detectives after they were featured in the newspapers with regard to a famous case, and I was thrilled to find out that these two gentlemen were indeed _my_ two gentlemen!

I had also remembered that the doctor, besides being a skilled physician, was a talented biographer, engaged in chronicling the exploits of his partner and himself. Those accounts would certainly be works of literature worth reading, I said to myself!

My father and I had been summoned to the gravel circle at the front of the school a little after three o'clock, where we encountered Mr Holmes and Dr Watson preparing to leave.

The three gentlemen shook hands, bowing slightly to each other. A few words were exchanged, and then I found myself walking with my two rescuers, as my father stood back, towards the waiting carriage.

Mr Holmes looked unremarkable, in that the wound he had suffered was not apparent. My doctor though, walked stiffly leaning upon a cane, and I could tell that he was still in some discomfort.

"It is most agreeable to see you so improved, Nora" said Mr Holmes, "How is your arm?"

"Very much better, thank you" I said. Then "Doctor...?" I began, but I did not say any more.

I wanted to ask if he was in pain... if he had slept... so many things. But at that moment the questions seemed too personal and I felt too foolish to ask them.

But then, as if he had heard my thoughts he said.

"I am feeling much improved, do not be concerned"

When we had reached the waiting conveyance, to my surprise and delight Mr Holmes turned to me, gave a small bow and shook my hand with the same formality he had shown my father. I returned the gesture most vigorously.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes" I said. He simply tilted his head and smiled.

"Miss Sullivan, I bid you good day" he said before he turned away and climbed into the carriage.

And then there was just the doctor and I.

He pointed to my injured arm. They had found me a dark blue silk square which, when folded and knotted, made an adequate sling.

"Dr Carr is a fine physician - do as he says" said the doctor, making his meaning very clear by a small waggle of his index finger.

"I will and... thank you for all you did" I said.

"I was most honoured to be of help" he replied.

"Will you write down our adventure?" I asked.

He considered for a moment and then regarded me with those gentle eyes.

"No" he said shortly, "I will leave that to you, Nora. I am sure you will omit nothing. Farewell"

As he said his goodbye he, too, shook my hand, and then he smiled at me and joined Mr Holmes in the hansom.

I took my father's arm and we watched as the horses stamped and shook their harnesses and then with a clatter of hooves across the cobbles they were away.

This then is my account, just as I remember it withholding nothing as far as I am aware: I hope Dr Watson would approve.

I have asked myself many times whether I would, given the means to do so, return to that portentous night; choose then to re-live it in a conventional manner. To sleep in my bed and not venture out beneath the cloud-laden sky. Forego the excitement and danger. Or would I still choose to crawl across that skylight?

I have to tell you, dear reader, I would change nothing. Not for anything would I choose for events to go otherwise. To sustain an injury... a wound... well, dear reader, _it was worth a wound _to spend that night as I did, in the company of those two great men of our time.

Yes, I would choose it, wholeheartedly, unreservedly... and the question, dear reader, that I leave you with?

It is simply this: Knowing now what I know...

...would you not choose it too?

The End


End file.
